No Kings

On Saturday, the nation will

Join forces east to west

To protest this administration,

Easy to detest.

 

Called “No Kings” with no explanation

Offered or required,

There will be large-scale gatherings

This “leader” has inspired.

 

To show support, I thought I’d buy

Some “No Kings” merchandise –

A hat or tee or even

Some lapel pins would suffice.

 

The quickest way to find this

Would be Amazon, for sure.

No matter what you think about it,

Speed’s its biggest lure.

 

So I was shocked when, on the site,

Most “No Kings” items shown

Could not or would not be delivered

(Cue the sad trombone…)

 

Until at least the 28^th

Or after; either case

Would get here past the point

When “No Kings” day had taken place.

 

I don’t think it is paranoid

To see Jeff Bezos’ role,

For when it comes to Amazon,

He’s kind of in control.

 

Ironically, this underscores

How vital is this cause,

For when greed and power rule, we’ve learned,

The kings make all the laws.

A Drizzly Mist

I went for my walk in a drizzly mist,

An umbrella not really required.

If I got to choose weather, I’d get this dismissed

Since it leaves me quite far from inspired.

For my glasses were speckled, which always annoys,

And my jacket, not waterproof, wettish.

This weather brings none of the usual joys,

My appearance more mussed, less coquettish.

I don’t need the sunshine to brighten my walk

And I know I won’t melt if it’s raining,

But a drizzly mist somehow gets me to balk 

And, with rhyme or without, start complaining.

An Irish Band

Went to see an Irish band 

For a late St. Patrick’s day

In a little local restaurant

Not very far away.

The fireplace was crackling,

The menu Irish-based,

The Guinness fresh and flowing,

All just perfect for my taste.

The 3 piece combo sang and played

Guitar and pipe and flute.

A banjo and a concertina

Joined the fun, to boot.

We rarely get to do this 

But as time makes it advance,

We should grab each opportunity 

While we still have the chance.

Missed Call

Years ago, if someone called 

And you were not around,

You’d never know about it 

‘Til another chance was found.

And then a new invention

Called the answering machine

Allowed a message to be left

For someone not on scene.

The mobile phone changed everything 

For data’s always saved -

The date and time of all the calls,

The dreaded ones or craved.

A few are labeled “Scam Alert”

But many sneak on through,

With numbers in your area,

Like someone that you knew.

Yet if a “Missed Call” notice shows

Without a message left,

Assume it was a bogus call 

And do not be bereft.

And sometimes, what’s recorded

Will not set your mind at ease,

For I’d rather get a missed call

Than a message in Chinese!

Eid al-Fitr

My classes were cancelled 

And school kids are home

Because of the holiday

Named in this poem.

No alternate parking,

In New York, at least,

So Muslims can gather

For prayer and feast.

When I was a teacher,

No calendar showed 

This holiday, so

No vacation was owed.

Our “melting pot” image

Is surely intact 

When days off are given

And how we react

Depends on our views -

Some support; others scoff.

I suspect those who like it, though,

Have the day off.

Parallelograms

I am spatially inept;

My brain just won’t work that way.

That is why I’ve always kept

Certain challenges at bay.

 

For my class’s Lone Star Quilt,

We have started now to sew,

Yet my spirits might soon wilt

As frustration starts to grow.

 

Parallelograms we’ve cut

Out of fabrics of our choosing.

They’ll be sewn together, but,

I find it’s so darn confusing

 

That some shapes face left or right,

Like a mirror image shown

And my brain puts up a fight,

Causing me to sweat and moan.

 

Still, I’ll keep up and attempt

To complete this pattern’s look,

Hoping that I’ll be exempt

From working strictly by the book.

A.I. Companions

Not only don’t I have one

But nobody else I know

Has an A.I. buddy, or, at least,

Will say that it is so.

 

I read a lengthy article

About these so-called “friends,”

Which scared me since it doesn’t seem

That these are simply trends.

 

Creators justify their use

To fill so many needs –

Companionship, approval,

Affirmation, all the seeds

 

Which we used to plant and nurture

With a living, breathing soul,

When actual relationships

Appeared to be the goal.

 

The future looms in ways to which

I can’t at all relate,

When real and artificial beings

Manage to conflate.

 

I’m glad that I won’t be around

When what we can expect

Is that everyone will need

Such a companion to connect.

At the St. Paddy's Parade

Of course there were bagpipes

And kilt-wearing men.

As always, they marched

Up Fifth Ave. once again.

 

The day, bright and sunny,

Was cold, plus the wind

Challenged anyone out there

Who wasn’t thick-skinned.

 

I felt for the students

Parading without

Warm jackets or gloves;

They were frozen, no doubt.

 

Yet the smiles were contagious

And so was the green,

For today we’re all Irish;

There’s no in-between.

 

Which is why, walking home,

I made one unplanned stop,

Since tonight needs some Guinness –

Not just a wee drop!

Reluctantly

A strange thing happens as I age,

Which cannot be controlled.

I tend to focus, everywhere,

On people who are old.

 

Today, a doctor’s waiting room,

A check-up for my eyes,

Was filled with those so elderly,

From seats they couldn’t rise.

 

As names were called, they shuffled out,

(Our wait time very wrong!)

But watching them, I wondered,

Is this group where I belong?

 

To get there, on the bus I sat

As people moved inside,

With canes and walkers, hoping

For a seat unoccupied.

 

And on TV, up on the stage,

On Oscar night, I saw

The older actors missing

All their sparkle, once a draw.

 

When I was young, I rarely noticed

Seniors within range,

Yet now, reluctantly, I see

My view’s begun to change.

Yet To Come

“The best is yet to come,” to me

Is more a wish than guarantee

For in the future, what will be

We cannot really know.

 

We tend to hope things will improve

For life’s in motion; as we move,

We try to get into a groove

That lets our feelings flow.

 

Yet who’s to say that on our quest

To seek what’s joyful, we’ll get stressed

And realize we have not progressed

Or taken time to grow?

 

In that case, we’ll look to the past

At happiness we thought would last

And see that all that we’ve amassed’s

As far as we can go.

 

At times, it seems quite evident

That “all the best to come” just went

And though it wasn’t our intent,

That best was long ago.

On Pi Day

Because it is Pi Day,

Let’s talk about pie.

The math type’s beyond me;

I won’t even try.

 

But thinking of key lime

Or lemon meringue

Just makes my mouth water –

That citrusy tang!

 

Or how about apple crumb?

Yes, a la mode!

Or strawberry rhubarb,

With tastes that explode.

 

My favorite is blueberry,

Raspberry, too.

I’m not fond of cherry,

Which might work for you.

 

Some people like custard

Or chocolate cream

Or pecan or pumpkin

And, while on this theme…

 

Of course, there is pizza

So scarf up a slice.

However you celebrate,

Pie will suffice.

Committed

I’m committed to writing a poem every day;

I’m committed to keeping in touch.

I’m committed to hearing the music I love,

But to buying a couch? Not so much.

I’m committed to reading my books and The Times;

I’m committed to crosswords and such.

I’m committed to exercise, walking outside

With a bottle of water to clutch.

I’m committed to seeing museums with art;

I’m committed to dining out Dutch.

There are many committed for reasons like these;

If I get to be one, keep in touch.

According to My Phone

According to my phone, the rain

Would start at 9 or 10.

My walk began at not quite 7;

Lots of time ‘til then.

 

Of course, at 7:45,

It started pouring hard.

Without my small umbrella,

It was tough to disregard.

 

The last half mile, I got soaked;

At least it wasn’t cold

And being close to home, I was

A little bit consoled.

 

I never learn my lesson,

Which is not to trust my phone

And, judging by my fellow drenchees,

I am not alone.

My Pearl Ring

For my 9^th grade graduation,

I received my first real ring.

My parents thought that it would be

The best gift they could bring.

 

It wasn’t very often that

Our presents were in gold.

We weren’t rolling in the bucks

And I had not cajoled.

 

A friend of mine had gotten one,

An opal, center-set,

With diamond chips surrounding it,

A style I can’t forget.

 

So when I saw my ring, which in

Its middle held a pearl

With a little sparkly flower,

I was not a happy girl.

 

To me, a pearl seemed older,

Meant for someone middle-aged.

I don’t remember if

My disappointment was assuaged.

 

I’m sure they knew my feelings

But it couldn’t be exchanged,

So I wore that ring, but how I felt

About it never changed.

 

It resides now in a box with

Other jewelry from my past

And as for rings I haven’t loved,

That pearl one was the last.

Scammers

For every lowlife scammer,

Preying on those unaware,

There should be a waiting slammer

With just other lowlifes there.

 

Stealing savings from the lonely

Or the elderly or sick

Is a crime that can be only

Done by those so cruel and slick

 

That they don’t deserve a pardon

From a life within a cell,

Since all sympathy will harden

When their victims start to tell.

 

In this techno world we live in,

Scams are easy to perform,

Yet no scammer gets forgiven,

Or at least that is the norm.

 

When I read or hear a story

Of a person who’s been scammed,

Well, to me, it’s mandatory

That their slammer door be slammed.

Back on My Bench

I am back on my bench

With the river in view.

People walk by in t-shirts;

The sky’s bright and blue.

There’s one small mound of snow

Which is coated in black.

It’s refusing to melt,

Fending off spring’s attack.

Flowers haven’t appeared

But the stage has been set.

By tomorrow, that snow

Will be gone, I would bet.

A Diner Booth

Sitting in a diner booth

Is cozy and inviting.

To me, such places are, in truth,

The tables most delighting.

 

When offered booth or table,

There’s no contest; I will choose

A booth which will enable

Me to chill out and enthuse.

 

At dinner, I like atmosphere

And candlelight and chairs,

A place to sip an ice-cold beer

And wait while food prepares.

 

Yet for breakfast or a lunchtime meal,

My preference tends to be

A diner with the main appeal

Of booths for friends and me.

 

My husband likes a table most

But will not raise his voice

When we end up in, you might have guessed,

A booth. (He has no choice!)

Listening to the Band Rehearse

The band’s composed of middle-schoolers

From within the state.

Most have never met before,

Yet right from out the gate, 

Their music sounds incredible,

Professional and full

And any passerby would feel

Its strong inviting pull.

Of course, I try to listen for

One close-to-me trombone,

But in a band the point is that

No sound exists alone.

We’ll attend the concert later

Yet I’m glad we happened by,

Catching part of the rehearsal;

Kvelling* privileges apply.

*bubbling over with immense joy (Yiddish)

Two Hundred Miles

Two hundred miles of driving

For tomorrow’s concert date,

Where we’ll watch our grandson play trombone 

And get to celebrate.

It’s quite a feather in his cap

To make the state-wide band 

And anyone with grandkids

I am sure will understand.

We never know how many

Chances in the years ahead

We might have to make these efforts;

I will leave “until” unsaid.

So we’re rolling on the highway

With our trusty brand-new tires,

Glad to be a part of this event

Before our time expires.

Hooray!

Hooray! It’s time to write a poem

About an absolute

Disgrace by name of Kristi Noem,

Who finally got the boot.

 

A spotlight-craving dilettante

Who shot her dog and goat

Is not the person most would want

To hold a job of note.

 

Yet there she was, in camo gear,

Like she was set for war,

Though all her make-up made it clear

That she was out for more.

 

In ad campaigns she was the star,

With mucho millions spent,

To showcase her as Homeland’s czar,

Her failures evident.

 

What bothered me (and maybe you)

The most, with all she spewed,

Was, more than what she tried to do,

Her nasty attitude.

 

Good riddance, now; it’s way past time

The reign of Kristi Noem

Gets its comeuppance, though with rhyme,

She isn’t worth this poem.

Letting Go

We cling to traditions

And habits and friends

And gatherings where

No one lately attends.

 

It’s hard to let go

But how long one pretends

Things are just like they were –

Well, that kind of depends.

 

If whatever we cling to

In some way extends

To those with whom we share it,

That surely transcends

 

Any reason to lose it.

Still, time’s flow portends

Letting go is expected,

Since everything ends.

What Rhymers Do in the Middle of the Night

A donut requires a dunk

And a stone, sitting creekside, a plunk.

With the first, there’s a dip

And the second, a skip,

Both delightful as thoughts to have thunk.

What's Left

What’s left of the snow

Are some scattershot mounds,

The piles that from shovels

Stayed way out of bounds.

 

I spotted some toddlers,

In bright-colored boots,

Attempting to climb some,

With giggles and hoots.

 

What’s really a pity’s

That old city snow,

While pristine when falling

And perfect to throw,

 

Turns black from pollution

And leftover piles

Elicit annoyance

Where once there were smiles.

 

The melting has started

And, as it gets warm,

That blackness will vanish

And puddles will form.

 

Of course, we’ll remember,

In memory’s sight,

The mountains of early snow,

Magically white.

Where You Walk

After being cooped inside

Because of cold or snow,

A warmer sunny day demands

You get outside and go!

 

Depending on your lifestyle,

If you leave to get some air,

You choose a place to perk you up

And mosey over there.

 

One friend of mine adores the beach,

So she will take a drive

And hit the boardwalk for a stroll

To make her feel alive.

 

Another lives in warmer climes

But when she needs her space,

She hits a nature sanctuary;

That’s her go-to place.

 

And as for me, when I am drawn

Outside to take a walk,

I’m happiest just traipsing on

The sidewalks of New Yawk.